CHAPTER TEN

DANCING IN DECEMBER

Freak.

Fuck up.

Failure.

Words – each one drenched in negativity – bounced about in Arthur's mind, which was growing more chaotic by the second. Pouring on all the speed he could, he blasted through the entrance doors, his only priority being to put as much distance between himself and Pogo's as possible. He didn't even look back. Why would he when all that would be staring back at him was pain, rejection and loneliness? Still, he felt it digging deeper into his skin, like the fangs of a ruthless predator.

It was snowing outside. Light flurries floated lazily down, sprinkling white onto the sidewalk, rooftops, cars and people strolling by. Arthur barely noticed; he was too busy running. Tears still pricking his eyes, he sprinted down the sidewalk, occasionally rubbing his eyes with his sleeve.

He couldn't believe it. Not that he'd expected his first performance to be a smashing hit – far from it. But what he'd walked into was nothing short of a nightmare. All his greatest fears had sprung to life – failing to suppress his embarrassing laughter, failing to make the audience laugh and failing to keep his nerves from taking control.

He'd failed, plain and simple.

If an award existed for Worst Comedian in Gotham, he thought glumly, no doubt he'd have won it tonight.

"Mom's right," he uttered, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I'm not funny. More like least funny person ever..."

"Arthur!"

Arthur heard the voice, but only vaguely. It sounded so far away, as if it were calling out to him from the other side of Gotham. Under other circumstances, he would have stopped, turned round and broken out smiling. Her voice always had a way of wrapping him in layers of comfort and joy.

Well, almost always.

Tonight, not even Aubrey could wash away his woes.

"Go away!" he cried miserably. "J-just leave me alone..."

"Arthur, stop!" Aubrey pleaded.

Arthur blinked back a fresh round of tears. He felt embarrassed to be crying, but after such a disastrous night, it was impossible not to. Lifting his head, his eyes popped open as he bumped into a man of intimidating size and height. Throw in the fact that this guy looked ready to punch someone's lights out, Arthur felt his insides twist painfully. One punch to the head, and it would indeed be lights out for poor, defenseless Arthur.

"Hey!" the guy growled, eyeing Arthur irritably. He tightened his right hand into a fist. "Watch it, pip-squeak!"

"S-s-sorry," Arthur squealed, backpedalling away from the grumpy man. He dared not look the man in the eye; the last thing he wanted was making this not-so-nice-looking stranger crankier than he already was.

"Arthur, please!" Aubrey shouted, her voice dripping with concern. "Wait up!"

"Go away!" he called back, wanting to block out everything and everyone in Gotham City. With that, he hurried off, wishing he could disappear into this cold, snowy night that was supposed to be a night to remember.

It was a night to remember, all right.

But for all the wrong reasons.

Freak.

Fuck up.

Failure.

"I should have stayed home," he cried, rubbing his face tiredly. "I never should have done this."

Farther down the sidewalk he ran, pumping his legs until they ached, begging him to stop. But he didn't. Too distraught to slam on the breaks, he simply kept on running, not caring where he went.

"Hey, look!" came a sneering voice. "A cry-baby!"

In his peripheral vision Arthur made out a gang of teenagers standing outside a rundown corner store. Upon seeing the scraggly, snivelling, unstylishly dressed man hurrying by, the four broke out sniggering. Like a pack of hyenas, the four laughed like they'd just witnessed a truly hilarious sight.

"Where ya goin', cry-baby?" one of them called.

"Cry me a river, cry-baby!" yelled another.

"Cry, cry-baby, cry!" one hollered, hooting childishly. Taking one last drag of his cigarette, he flicked it aside cockily.

Making the situation worse, Arthur's feet met a slippery patch of snow. He stumbled, but quickly jumped back to his feet, ignoring the cruel laughter spilling out from the amused teenagers. It seemed this awful night just wasn't finished with Arthur Fleck. It wouldn't surprise him if the sky suddenly decided to hit him with the coldest, angriest snowstorm it could whip up.

A rush of wind slashed against his pale face. Arthur shivered, thankful to at least have his winter coat. It might not have been the greatest at keeping winter's chilly temperatures at bay, but it was better than nothing. Even his grey wool scarf – a little tattered and faded in color – helped keep his neck warm.

"Arthur!"

Arthur turned sharply right, pumping his legs furiously. Where am I going? he thought, feeling lost and increasingly weary. What am I doing? He shouldn't be running around the streets; he should have been catching the next bus ride home. Home to his apartment where his mother would have no words of encouragement to offer him. Only reminders that he didn't have what it took to make it as a comedian, let alone a successful one.

Lifting his head, he saw a familiar sight. Thirty yards away, draped in a thin layer of freshly fallen snow, stood Gotham Park. Arthur recognized the place immediately; he passed by this popular place more than once during his commute to work. Sometimes, if he needed to clear his thoughts, or just needed to be alone, he'd pay the park a visit. Unfortunately, his visits had become less frequent since disrespectful teenagers started taking pleasure in teasing Arthur. It was hard enjoying a day at the park when jerks were throwing pinecones at you, laughing while they did so.

Thankfully, the park was empty tonight. Arthur's tired, teary eyes scanned the spacious park, relieved have a spot where he'd be free to cry in peace. A moment later, he settled onto a wooden bench, letting his face drop into his hands. He buried his hands into his hair, letting the tears slip down his face, one teardrop at a time.

Freak.

Fuck up.

Failure.

"That's all I am," Arthur whispered, his voice hardly audible. "Just a freak...a fuck up...a failure."

"Arthur!"

The sound of approaching footsteps grew louder, along with the voice that refused to be silenced. He could see her out of the corner of his eye, rushing up to him, out of breath, her face painted with worry, anger and sympathy.

"Arthur," Aubrey panted, her voice softening. She plopped down beside him, waiting for him to look at her. When he didn't, she asked quietly, "Arthur?"

"Is it just me," he said, more to himself than to Aubrey, "or is it getting crazier out there?" Replaying the words over in his head, it struck him how utterly lost he sounded.

"I'm an idiot," he uttered in defeat. So easy it was giving in to the truth. Why try and fight it when it was so inescapable? In the sad and tragic life that was Arthur Fleck's, truth was practically written in the stars, etched into the sky with permanent ink.

"No," Aubrey quickly corrected. "You're not an idiot."

"But I am!" he argued, sighing deeply. "I should have known I don't have what it takes to be a comedian. I'm"—he sniffed and shook his head—"I'll never have what it takes to be a comedian."

Before Aubrey could get out even one word, Arthur repeated softly, "I'm an idiot..."

"Look at me, Arthur," Aubrey commanded, gently but insistently.

Arthur's gaze didn't shift.

"Arthur," said Aubrey, her unblinking gaze locked on him. "Look at me."

A moment later, Arthur's gaze landed on Aubrey.

"You're not an idiot," she told him firmly. Arthur listened, clinging onto her every word, so desperate for even the smallest ounce of sincerity. Breathing in the sound of her voice, how he wished she could tear down his walls of doubt. Light a burning fire to all the insecurities following him wherever he went, every minute of every day. "Don't even think for one second you're an idiot, Arthur."

Arthur said nothing.

He didn't to; his silence confirmed exactly what he was thinking.

"You're not an idiot!" Aubrey went on, glaring off into the night. Arthur thought he detected a hint of anger in her voice, swelling like an inflating balloon. "All those jerks at Pogo's?" She exhaled, muttering something incomprehensible. "They're the idiots."

Arthur watched her wordlessly. Aubrey was struggling to keep her dam of frustration from bursting; he could see it plainly on her face. From her tone of voice and the way she gritted her teeth together, she seemed even more frustrated than Arthur. Even her hands were tightened into fists, as if all she wanted was to punch something.

"Fuck them," she said, her choice of words catching him off guard. Aubrey wasn't one to swear often. As Arthur was learning, when she did, it meant her emotions were trapped on a high-speed roller coaster. Studying her face more closely, he saw the anger plastered all over her face. In her twitching nose. Her narrowed eyes. Her furrowed brows and trembling lips.

Arthur tried answering, but the words stayed glued to his tongue.

"Who cares what they think, Arthur," she went on, giving his hand a much-needed, reassuring squeeze. "So many people in this city are assholes. What do they know about humor anyway?" She scoffed and leaned back, crossing her arms across her chest. "They think making fun of someone with a condition is funny."

There was a short stretch of silence.

"But," Arthur finally said, staring at he and Aubrey's interlocked hands. "What if I never make it as a comedian?" He threw himself into her gaze, hoping, no, needing to find some promise that things would be okay. That he shouldn't let this humiliating, disheartening night define him. Not let it shatter his hopes of chasing after the dream he'd kept alive since ten-year-old Arthur had read his first book of knock-knock jokes.

"Forget them," she said, holding his gaze. "Forget anyone who tells you you can't do it. That you're not good enough. The hell with them." With a small smile, she told him, "You are good enough. Assholes like that just can't see it." She paused momentarily, then gave his hand a little squeeze. "Anyway...you'll always be a comedian to me."

Arthur's gaze flickered back and forth between Aubrey and the starry sky. What she said sounded so lovely, words carefully wrapped in layers of hope, sitting in a package with his name on it? Yet why couldn't he open the box? He tried, truly he did. But he was so buried in doubt, digging his way out felt next to impossible.

So much he wanted to say to her. Alas, he couldn't think of a single word.

He sighed shakily, tucking his hands back into his pockets.

What he needed more than anything was a smoke.

He was just about to pull out his lighter and a cigarette, when...

"Dance with me?"

Arthur blinked.

He stared at her silently, unsure of what to say or think. After such an awful night, all he wanted was to sit on that bench, surrendering to the unfortunate fact that his first performance at Pogo's had gone up in smoke.

But something in her voice, in the way she looked at him, sparked something inside him. He couldn't exactly tell what it was or meant. It could have been a flame, licking its way through him, blotting out the cold within him with blankets of warmth. Or a seed, rising up from the ashes of despair.

Whatever it was, he craved it.

Without a word, he slipped his hand into hers. So small and soft her hand was. He rose to his feet, his heart beating faster in his chest as she erased the gap between them. Overcome with sudden shyness, he froze, averting his gaze downward. Feeling a hand settle upon his shoulder, he thought numbly: what now?

His body, luckily, knew just what to do.

One hand he enveloped around Aubrey's waist, pulling her closer towards him. The other he kept intertwined with hers, their hands resting snugly against his chest. Something, however, felt wrong. Almost immediately he understood what needed fixing.

Letting his body guide him, he slipped out of his coat. He didn't care that it was chilly out, or that it was snowing. All he knew was what he needed – the only thing in the world he needed right then – was to be as close to this woman as possible.

It was like she'd read his mind. With a budding smile, she removed her coat and tossed it onto the bench, her eyes never leaving Arthur. Slowly, as if sinking into a dreamlike state, he stepped up to her. Once more he joined hands with her, pulling her closer, aching for her and her alone.

Arthur's first thought was to panic.

He didn't know how to dance! It wasn't like he was a professional dancer who lifted women off their feet with ease and confidence. How could he when he was skinny as a rake? Sure, he'd seen enough dancing in shows and movies to at least have an idea of the basics.

But something lived inside him. Growing all the time, blossoming like a sunflower in summer.

Deep down, past the self-doubt, nestled in his heart...was music. Music that never slept. That contained no words. Music that ignited such emotions in Arthur, he could do nothing except let it play, play and awaken his soul.

He didn't even have to think. His body, holding his hand every step of the way, did all the thinking for him. He was thankful it knew how to dance; the last thing he wanted was to step on Aubrey's toes like a certified klutz.

But his body But his body knew only one language.

Grace.

Slowly, he moved in harmony with Aubrey, as if the dance itself were taking on a life of its own. As if the dance were a grand and beautiful puppet master, and they puppets on string.

Arthur's spirits lifted. He'd never thought of it like that before. Whenever he envisioned life as a comedian, he pictured standing on stage, in front of a large crowd, sending them into round upon round of laughter.

It felt like a lifetime before Aubrey spoke.

"Forget them, Arthur," she told him, her head pressed against his chest. "You want to be a comedian?" She gave his shoulder a light squeeze. "Be my comedian." Around them, flakes of snow continued falling. No longer was Arthur cold. So long as Aubrey stayed close to him, he'd never be cold. She was like a cozy blanket, warding off December's chill, warming him from his head right down to his toes. "Who cares if those creeps at Pogo's find you funny? You don't need a room full of people laughing at you to make you a comedian."

Arthur said nothing, but inside he was thinking gratefully: because I'll always have you. The smallest smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Of all the people in Gotham, Aubrey was perhaps the only person who genuinely found him funny. Without realizing it, he closed his eyes, letting the music within him guide his movements. I'll always be a comedian, so long as I've got you. I'll be your comedian...yours and no one else's.

Arthur's gaze wandered up to the sky. He hadn't realized until then how truly breathtaking a sight the evening sky was. Wherever he looked, it was nothing but a inky-black canvas littered with twinkling stars. One star in particular he noticed shone brighter than the others. Crazy as it seemed, he swore this tiny sparkled, as if whispering to him: I believe in you.

Maybe, thought Arthur, slipping his fingers through Aubrey's silky black hair, I'm not as alone as I thought...

Arthur wasn't sure how long the two went on dancing. It could have ten minutes. Twenty. Even an hour. Time seemed to slip away whenever he was with Aubrey. Nothing else mattered when she was with him.

Letting himself get lost in her gaze, a sudden thought rushed over him. Feeling her arm wrapped round his neck, her other hand interlocked with his, he felt on the verge of exploding. His desire for this woman was heating up faster than a furnace on a cold winter's night.

What he wouldn't give to kiss her. To feel her lips against his, letting their lips surrender themselves to a dance coated with romance. For a split second, he thought he might take the plunge and go for it. Slowly, at a snail's pace, he leaned forward, craving nothing else but her lips.

At the last second, he slammed on the brakes.

It didn't surprise him he chickened out. His shyness and fear never stayed gone for long. Now they were back in control.

One day, he thought sadly, but with a small sense of determination. One day I'll kiss you. That's a promise.

Arthur wasn't surprised when he returned home to see his mother asleep in front of the TV, snoring as usual. Less surprising was seeing Murray Franklin on the screen, wrapping up another successful show.

"Thanks for watching," Murray was concluding, "and always remember: that's life!" He smiled and waved goodbye to the audience and those watching from home.

Arthur lifted his hands, uttering softly, "That's life!" Somewhere inside him, he felt a sudden urge to dance again. After dancing with Aubrey, he felt he could spend the rest of the night dancing.

"Mom," he said softly, laying a hand on his mother's shoulder. "Wake up...let's go to bed."

Penny's eyes opened sleepily.

"Happy?" she murmured, still half asleep. "Happy, I wrote a new letter."

"C'mon," he said, unable to wipe the smile from his face. "Dance with me."

"For Thomas Wayne," Penny went on, still in the same sleepy tone. "It's important..."

Arthur whistled, twirling his mom around like he'd to Aubrey earlier. A moment later, he pulled her back closer to him, though she didn't exactly seem to be in the dancing mood. Humming softly, he swung their hands back and forth in tune to the music spilling out from the television.

"You smell like cologne," Penny commented.

Arthur leaned back, lifting a hand above his head theatrically.

"That's cuz I just had a big date," he answered, smiling up at his mother.

Penny's only reaction was a small chuckle. Arthur rose to his feet, wishing she'd ask even one question. Instead, she turned and shuffled towards her bedroom.

"Just...don't forget to mail it," she yawned.

A moment later, she disappeared into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

Immediately Arthur stopped dancing. The fact that she hadn't even brought up Pogo's made it quite clear what she already knew: that Arthur's first performance had been a total train wreck. But he'd hoped she'd at least be curious how his first date with the girl next door had gone. Sadly, she'd shown as much interest as one does to crumbs on a plate.

Or, he thought, settling down into his couch-that-was-also-his-bed, maybe she was just tired. Or, he thought with a touch of frustration, maybe all she cared about was having Thomas Wayne reply to even one of her hundreds of letters.

Whatever the reason, he hoped his mother approved of Aubrey. Aside from his mom, Arthur had no other woman in his life who cared for him. So crushed he'd be if she disapproved of Aubrey, deciding she just wasn't what Arthur needed in his life. Aubrey was everything he needed and more. She was his source of constant encouragement, the light in his usually dark and miserable existence. Without Aubrey, he was sure he'd spiral back into the lonely life he so desperately wanted to keep at bay.

Arthur's eyes flickered to the calendar on the wall.

Today was December third.

Only a week to go before December tenth was upon him.

The countdown until his next date with Aubrey Speck.